But Jasmine pushed on. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you’ll like living in a harem. How’s your dancing skills, by the way?”
Diyari’s deep, sexy laughter infused the cabin, but before she could reprimand him, he turned on his heel and sauntered toward the back of the plane, leaving her eyes to savor the magnificent view of his firm derrière encased in those worn jeans. Jasmine’s blubbering faded to a low hum as her eyes drank him in. She’d flat out lied to Jasmine a few minutes ago. Yes, she admitted to herself, she was attracted to him . . . on every level. Sexual heat knifed through her, electrifying her. She shivered with its intensity.
Jasmine’s next words dissolved the erotic miasma enveloping her. “Or maybe I should ask about the other skills you’ll need to satisfy this job.”
What? Now that was out of line, way out of line. Okay, okay, she’d had enough. Jasmine had no right to insult her when she was earning a huge amount of money for White Lace and Promises. You’d think she’d be congratulating her instead of this reprimand coming out of left field. “I think you’re blowing this nonsense way out of proportion.”
“Oh, am I?” Jasmine fired back.
Candace ignored the quip. “You knew when you set this meeting up that I would have to go to their homeland. This is just another wedding, only on a tremendously higher level.”
“No. It. Is. Not.” Jasmine emphasized each word as if she were slow-witted, incapable of understanding. “Do you realize there isn’t an American Embassy in B’Quara? If you get into trouble, there isn’t going to be anyone to help you. Your playmate the Sheik knows that. Wake up, Candace. This guy wants more than assistance with his sister’s wedding. He wants you!” There was an elongated pause before she continued, “Now get off that plane!”
“I can’t. I’ve signed the contract and accepted his retainer.” She could almost see Jasmine shaking her head. Quickly, she pressed her point home before she lost her edge. “Jasmine, it’s a four-hundred-ounce gold bar valued at five hundred thousand dollars.” Candace dropped her voice to a mere whisper. “And that’s just the retainer.”
Jasmine’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “Now you listen to me, Candace Danvers. Doesn’t that sound just a little unusual to you?”
She stood up straighter, “That’s how they conduct business in his part of the world. The higher the retainer, the greater the chance you’ll receive excellent service. That sounds perfectly reasonable to me.” She spun around, observing the prince prowling toward her, and she was well aware he could hear every word. She hated to keep lying to Jasmine, but she couldn’t involve her. Couldn’t risk her getting hurt.
Diyari smiled at her, his flashing white teeth as sexual as that earth-shattering kiss he bestowed on her yesterday. Her breath hitched as a tiny arc of apprehension rooted itself between her shoulders. Jasmine was correct about one fact. She would be totally dependent on him for the next twelve hours, maybe the next twelve months.
Jasmine persisted, “Maybe he’s paying for more intimate duties. Isn’t that what he proposed yesterday? Have you thought about that? Good God, Candace, you should have called the cops, not signed a contract with him.”
Now a deep blush charred her cheeks as her mind flashed back to their improper debate yesterday. He aspired to have sex with her, had voiced that daunting fact, shocking her to her very core. An internal tocsin sounded. She hurriedly brushed it aside, determined to do her best with both the wedding and her CIA operation. But right now, she was so over this conversation. She had a job to do. “I had the retainer sent over to the office for deposit. It will be there by the time you arrive tomorrow.”
“And where will you be tomorrow?”
She leaned against the wall of the cabin, nudging her hip into the wall. “I’ll be meeting with the bride to work out the details for the biggest state wedding we’ve ever put together.” Her lips curved into a big smile, proud of her accomplishments. “That’s where I’ll be. Besides, the money is going to be phenomenal. You’ll finally be able to expand.”
“At this point, Candace, I don’t give a damn about the money. I just need you to come to your senses before it’s too late.” Jasmine’s voice sounded anxious, scared. Again, she turned and stared at the Sheik, busying himself at his desk . . . eavesdropping.
A glacial chill blasted up her spine. She shivered as the cold seeped into her body, her bones. Even if she had misgivings about her actions, she was committed to doing her job. Maybe Jasmine was right. Jasmine had a lot more experience with men. Yes, some might consider her naïve when it came to men. She’d agree she didn’t have vast experience. Her first and only love had been Bobby. All through high-school, college, and the farm, she’d only had eyes for Bobby. But Bobby was gone, laid to rest in a grave for over a year now.
Dislodging her fear, she straightened her shoulders before jumping back into the fray. “His sister invited me personally to do this wedding. I gave her my word.”
There was a huge sigh in her ear. “Yeah right. How do you know it was his sister?
She shot away from the wall. “Are you taking your meds correctly? Of course it was his sister I spoke to last night.”
“You spoke with someone. There’s no proof it was his sister.”
Jasmine sounded like her boss John Grey. But, she made a valid point. Maybe Sheik Diyari designed the assassination plans. Throughout history, there were many tales of the sons in line to inherit the throne killing their own fathers.
A helix of fear pulled her muscles taut. Her fingers holding the phone turned white as she increased the pressure. She lifted her chin with determination. But doubt eked its way into her mind. How much did she really know about this man?
No, she reassured herself, he might be a scoundrel, but she’d bet-the-bank his intentions weren’t nefarious. Hedonism dominated Diyari’s world, beautiful women a constant in his life. He didn’t have to coerce anyone into his bed. She’d done research on him into the wee hours of the morning. Accommodating women lined up around the block, pining for an invitation to oblige him. Her gaze flicked over him, the corners of her lips elevating into a smile. Yes, she understood the fascination. Every woman with a pulse understood it. But her overnight research had also produced a disturbing fact. The other day, she couldn’t get the nagging perception she’d heard the codename, Viper, before. Well . . . that’s because she’d read it in a report, and apparently Viper often slipped information to some of the operatives. Was Diyari Viper? Sally’s info certainly stated that fact, but . . . She blinked several times, allowing the impression to sink in. Nope. Never. She was being silly. Diyari was too occupied with the ‘placement of rose petals’ to worry about anything as serious as intrigue.
“Candace . . . are you still there?” Jasmine’s voice snapped her attention back to the conversation. No, Jasmine was way off base with her accusations.
“Yes, I’m here, but you’re being downright absurd. What possible reason could the prince have for lying?”
When Jasmine didn’t respond, her frustrations got the best of her. “Answer me,” she demanded. “What possible reason? He’s next in line to the throne of a very popular tourist destination. People go in and out of his country all the time. Why would he risk his reputation on such a devious plan?”
“Because you said no to him,” Jasmine barked. “He’s never heard that word from a woman. No one has ever challenged him as you have. Think about it!”
Stunned, Candace’s gaze locked on the Sheik, working furiously at his desk, his fingers flying across the keys of his computer. No way. No way in hell!
She’d had enough. This conversation was over. Jasmine had dredged up all of her shortcomings, making her feel less than adequate. She hiked her backpack up higher on her shoulder, her final decision unchanged. “Jasmine, I’m going to B’Quara. I’m going to plan this wedding, and I’m going to make you a fortune.” Canda
ce spoke softly, hoping to avoid the prince’s attention. “I’ll call you when I get to B’Quara. Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.”
“I hope you’re right. I really do.”
Candace jammed her iPhone into the back pocket of her jeans, then turned to face Diyari.
“Problems?” His lagging inspection dragged over her, drifting across her black tank-top, his eyes burning her flesh with the potency of a laser. She was totally entranced. Her breath suspended as his regard dallied for a prolonged moment on her breasts. She glanced down and gasped at the sight of her budded nipples tenting the soft material of her shirt.
He sighed heavily and looked away, his attention once again centered on his computer screen.
That fluttering in her stomach was back, ten times more powerful, like a thick fist flexing and unflexing. She gave herself a mental shake to clear her befogged brain. This was ludicrous. This man intrigued her, and yes, she wanted his attention. Craved it, with a longing that was totally new to her.
When she didn’t answer, he renewed his question. “problems?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
His eyes glimmered with devilry.
Her hands flew to her hips, acknowledging his query with rebellion. Their gazes merged. The hard heat within his gaze fried every synapse.
He extended his hands, palms up, in a questioning gesture. “If we’re finished with the theatrics, I need to get this plane in the air. I’d like to get home in this millennium.”
Ah, and just like that, the formidable Sheik returned, his mood altering from playful to authoritarian in a split second. Jasmine’s harsh words had offended him.
“I’m ready when you are.”
“Rrrright,” he growled, the gravelly sound vibrating into her marrow.
Without saying a word, he gestured for her to have a seat. She followed his direction, immediately submerged in the coolness of the lush white leather bucket seat. Picking up her luggage, he slung it above her, forcing his body within inches of her. His nostrils flared, and Candace knew he caught the floral scent of her new perfume, A Drop of Rose. She’d bought it this morning with his reaction in mind, enticed by this game he’d set the rules for yesterday. Placement of rose petals, that intriguing image still burned in her mind.
A vein popped out in his neck. “Roses . . .” he queried. “Are you kidding me?”
She blinked innocently. “I love roses, in the right places of course.”
He choked, coughing until his face turned red. “So, you heard the gossip about that incident, did you?”
Payback is hell.
“I make it my business to acquaint myself with every aspect of my clients, but I must say you’re in a category all by yourself.”
His verdant eyes leveled on her a second before snapping to the overhead compartment. “Yes, my recent dossier on you is complete as well.” His hands raked through those succulent locks before his gaze again zeroed in on her. Watching her, observing every move she made. She stared back . . . refusing to cower beneath his gaze.
Within the somnolent depths, she spied an inkling of doubt, trepidation. Her eyebrows knitted together. What had this fearsome man in such a state? Could it be the issue Sally said she was working on yesterday? Or the idea that he might mess up his sister’s wedding? No, too obvious. He had the wedding covered. This type of distress was more abysmal. Her mind whirled as she struggled to come up with a valid reason for his brooding. Minutes passed, and then . . . Ah . . . abruptly the answer formed in her mind. Fear for his father, yes, that was it. Now she understood why he was in such a big hurry to get airborne. He wanted to get home. To protect his father, the king.
Low-riding, worn blue jeans molded his body as if they were air-brushed on, fitting snugly in all the right places and highlighting areas where her gaze longed to linger. His kelly-green polo shirt enhanced the disquiet sea of his eyes and stretched across the breath of his shoulders. As he slid even closer, she found herself unable to swallow.
Sinewy muscles strained as he shoved her suitcase into the overhead compartment, his well-worked biceps flexing with the effort. Reaching above her head, he exposed a tantalizing expanse of deeply tanned, bare stomach—ripped, ridged muscle knotting with each movement. A thin line of black hair disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. Breathlessly, her gaze trailed it, catching a glimpse of the linear ridge of his Loin of Apollo as his jeans slipped lower.
That’s when she saw it!
The black scorpion tattoo wrapped itself around that enticing ridge of flesh, the animal’s threatening tail pointed, poised to strike. The remainder of her breath rushed out as his jeans descended even more, exposing the waistband of his black designer underwear before slipping to reveal the entire animal. She dropped her lashes to hide her dismay. Sweet Jesus! He was one of them! The notorious Black Scorpions. Ice quivered down the length of her spine as a warning flashed through her mind. This latest observation changed the threat level immensely. Could the Black Scorpions be some type of royal guard? The king’s warriors like the Musketeers of Alexandre Dumas’s novel? All types of scenarios swirled around in her brain. God, she prayed she was making the right assumption. If she was wrong? To give credence to the other possibility stirring in her head, the one of him behind the actions to remove the king, made her sick. Her stomach see-sawed like a boat caught in the middle of a hurricane. No, her gut reaction was that these Black Scorpions belonged to an elite guard for the king. But her gut was wrong once before, and it cost her husband his life. Could she really put any faith in her flawed intuition? Her instincts, usually razor-sharp, foundered in the prince’s presence.
Even with this newly obtained knowledge, her fingers itched to slide over his glabrous skin, to experience his masculine power arcing beneath her questing fingers.
He lurched forward as he gave her case a final shove. Holy crap! Smooth, tanned skin just above his dipping fly appeared only inches from her face. He was doing this on purpose, playing with her, trying to befuddle her. And it was working!
“Do you need help with my luggage?”
“Nope,” he huffed, “I’ve got it, just one more shove.” All the muscles in his arms bulged. “And . . . there. We are ready to take off.” The overhead compartment snapped shut with a loud click as the roar of the engines filled the interior with a faint scent of fuel. She dug the nails of her right hand into her left, her grip so strong she mangled her palm with deep, red, half-moon marks. Killing her, that’s what he was doing. Every womanly cell in her body wept for his touch. His sexual heat so concupiscent, it scorched her. Only his apology of “excuse me” halted her imagination from the prohibited terrain lying beneath the acid-etched denim of his fly. She didn’t need to go there. Not in her state. If this torture continued, the next thing she knew, she’d jump him. Push him down into that plush leather seat and climb on top. Shove that polo shirt up over his head and sink her fingers into the lushness of his chest, skim over the tautness of those electrifying abs, and let her hands travel down to the ridge of his hip. Closing her eyes, she held her breath until he moved away. But his enthralling pine scent lingered. It had been such a long time since she’d been with a man—such a very long time. Every cell in her body craved the mixture of hot and sweet passion that came with engaging in sex. The release. Oh, the release. Her toes curled at the thought of the two of them together. She blinked several times, fighting to rein in those explicit mental pictures. Her lack of sex since Bobby’s death had to be the reason he was having such a profound effect on her. Of course. What else could it be?
He hitched up his jeans before flopping into the seat across from her. With one leg dangling over the armrest, he ignored his seatbelt as the jet took off. His eyes seized hers, their spine-dissolving malachite fire burning with the heat of a nuclear explosion. He was such an enigma. Fierce, one moment, gallant the next.
Edgy.
Tense.
A Black Scorpion.
Keyed up like a boxer before the medal round, sweat rolled down between her breasts. And he hadn’t done anything to warrant her reaction. It was just him, every single molecule of his body voluptuary. That pretty much summed up the crux of her lust. Staying up all night reading those gossip magazines hadn’t helped. Tons of pictures showed him escorting the world’s most beautiful women to every type of occasion from charity galas to polo matches.
Redheads, blonds, brunettes, a smorgasbord he dined on nightly, women an obvious amusement he basked in every chance he got. Being this close to him made her crazy. She’d never been ruled by passion like this, never, not even with Bobby. This guy messed with her mind and her body, had it purring like the fine-tuned engine of a race car from just a kiss. If he decided to seduce her, she’d be helpless to refuse him. What woman in her right mind would want to? She thought back to those tempestuous lips of his against hers, the way his lips swooped down and captured hers. The slide of his moist flesh over hers. Those sturdy hands securing her face as if he never wanted to let her go as he kissed her hungrily. He kissed her like she was the most precious thing in the world, sending a wave of sizzle straight into the depths of her femininity. She squeezed her thighs together to fight off the sensual sensations. That damned kiss! So memorable, so steamy, so soft. That, with the combined graze of his tongue torturing her lips to open while he plundered her treasure. Have mercy! She began fanning herself with her fingers.
All this spelled big trouble for her assignment. Complications she didn’t have time for. Maybe she should have sex with him and get him out of her system, but even as those salacious thoughts formed, she recognized the error in her judgement. Once would never be enough . . . not with him. A thousand times would never be enough.
For the Sheik's Pleasure (Sheiks in Love Book 2) Page 7
